


Like the Bright Morning Stars

by velcroboyfriends



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Multi, Polyamory, Polymachina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velcroboyfriends/pseuds/velcroboyfriends
Summary: "I think I'm in love with all of them," Percy says, a little agog."Yeah," Pike agrees, as though it's the obvious reaction.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChronicBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicBookworm/gifts).



> I very much enjoyed writing this fun little Polymachina AU for Yuletide! I hope you (meaning my recipient) and you (meaning all of you) enjoy it as well <3
> 
> The title, like the epigram, is from Anaïs Mitchell's song [Namesake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=msX5qFJj8kQ).

_I have lain with the shadows you threw / When you danced with the bright colored lights of the stage_

\- "Namesake", Anaïs Mitchell

 

"I think I'm in love with all of them," Percy says, a little agog.

"Yeah," Pike agrees, as though it's the obvious reaction.

 

Pike has always seen something good in Percy, from the night he turned up in her OR bruised and bleeding from what should have been a deadly encounter between his motorcycle and the black car that swerved into him out of nowhere one night on the highway running through Emon. He was mangled, and Pike stitched him back to life, stayed after her shift to watch over him. The nurses said she'd worked a miracle in there; she said he'd done it himself, with his fierce will to live.

Given that Percy's will to live has never been much fiercer than the meanest anemone, he's more inclined to believe the former, despite the fact there's no scientific evidence for miracles. Most scientific evidence fails where Pike is concerned.

So what Pike says goes, generally, Percy following her whims with bemused awe.

"You know, there's this band playing at Mercer's this weekend," she says at lunch during her break one day, "Called Vox Machina. I think you'd like them." And because she's Pike, Percy finds himself happily agreeing.

It's only later, once he's gotten home and digested his soup, that he realizes he's signed himself up for loud music and a crowded room and all the things he finds overwhelming about the world.

 

It would be an understatement to say that Percy doesn't get out much. The repair shop drags him away from his apartment, but he always does his best to finagle his way into working from home as much as he can. And because Percy's fast and smart and never fails on a fix, anything small enough to take home on his bike goes to his place to get repaired. Some weeks he manages to take home enough work to get him all the way through the week before he has to go back again.

It's just that outside is a lot. There are people there, and where people are involved Percy is bound to fuck up. He can get through a light conversation on the charms his family taught him as a child, but any attempts to delve deeper get shut down as quickly as possible. And it's hard to make friends when he has to keep a wall up, has to worry about fitting the mask firmly in place. Because things would turn out much worse if he let just anyone see him for what he is.

Pike is different, though, brimming with an unwarranted level of unconditional love for everyone she meets. He supposes part of it comes from the whole faith thing, but he realized a long time ago that his mind simply isn't programmed to accept faith. Perhaps things would be easier if it were.

So it doesn't feel scary going to her apartment. It's a cozy place, minimal in its furnishings but decorated with tokens of the love she has for her friends, her family, her god. She's got a roommate she refers to as 'Grog' - Percy's never been sure if it's his real name or some strange endearment - but he's never met the guy, and the only sign of his living there is that there's always an astounding amount of pizza boxes and beer bottles in the bins.

"Is that what you're wearing?" Pike asks when Percy shows up at her apartment door. From her mouth it sounds like a friendly question, but he's known her long enough to hear past the tender voice.

"Er... is there something wrong?" He tugs at the hem of his sweater, shifts the center of his bow tie slightly to the right. His usual look isn't quite so put-together, but he'd figured a concert was the time to get out the nice bits of his wardrobe.

"No!" Pike backpedals expertly. "No, it's great, it's just... very wholesome." Percy scoffs; Pike can't very well complain about someone looking wholesome, not with her golden hair and freckled cheeks. But her flannel and jeans definitely read more relaxed than his own look. He folds his arms in front of his chest.

"Should I change, then?"

"No, no, uh..." Pike goes to the coat closet just to the right of the door and rummages through. "My stuff's too small, but something of Grog's, maybe?" She reaches in and pulls out a huge leather jacket. It looks like it would reach her knees and completely swallow her, but on Percy... well, as she hands it over, it hardly seems fit for him, either. He slips his arms into the sleeves, which barely show the bottoms of his fingers. As he pulls the jacket around him, it seems it could fit the both of them at once.

"I don't know about this," Percy mumbles, shifting awkwardly in the black leather. It smells of beer and the echo of weed. Pike bites her lip and looks him up and down.

"It works, in a way," she decides, then brushes her hands together. "Now, no more dawdling, we'll be late."

"You're the one who - " Pike urges him through the doorway and shoves her key in the lock. "I mean, I was ready to - "

"Come on, let's go!" And arm hooked over the crook of his elbow, Pike hurries them down the hall.

 

Mercer's is a small venue in downtown Emon; Percy's passed it before, but never been in. Most of the week it's a pub hosting open mics and trivia nights, but on weekends it hosts a variety of local bands. He's seen the posters - he recalls seeing posters for this band, even - but never imagined he'd find himself here.

The music isn't blasting as loud as he'd feared as they walk up the street. He can hear music bleeding out through the doors, but it's not the expected heavily-thumping bass. Outside it's cold - not as cold as Whitestone winters, but enough that Percy's glad for the extra layer brought by the leather jacket - and as they open the doors, warmth pours out to accompany the sound of the music and the crowd. Percy's glasses fog up for a moment, and combined with the dim light, it renders him unable to see more than blurs of color for a few moments.

The large purple blur to his right resolves itself into a stage lit with purple and golden light from precariously-mounted instruments. A jaunty, hand-painted banner stretched across the back of the stage reads, in sparkly calligraphy, 'Glorious Gilmore and the Marquettes'. The frontman continues the purple-and-gold theme with his finery and isn't so much singing as purring into the microphone, while a handsome, tawny man plays the sitar and a surly-looking young woman chimes in on the keyboard. It's an odd mix, but somehow it works.

They find themselves a high table near the back to perch at for a bit until the main act begins, but Pike doesn't sit quite yet.

"I'm getting a beer," she says. "Want anything?"

"Gin," Percy says, "And tonic. Extra lime. Thank you." Onstage the band is finishing up their song with a level of flourish that can only mean it's the end of their set, and sure enough, Gilmore (Percy presumes) bids good night to the audience. He finds himself cheering them on along with the crowd.

As the band moves to exit, Percy notices Gilmore crouching down on the stage to accept a rather enthusiastic kiss from a figure with dark hair half-bound into a bun. He catches a glimpse of long, tan neck, of a lithe figure, and then Pike's back, nudging him to take the drinks so she can boost herself up onto the tall chair. When he looks back, he just sees the band and stagehands clearing and resetting for the next act.

 

They chat as much as they can during the changeover, but the dull roar of the house music and the voices of the crowd make it uncomfortable to talk much. Mostly Percy looks around, trying to catch sight of that person again. He sees Gilmore and his group by their merch table, which is generously stocked not just with the expected t-shirts and CDs but with charming trinkets, but no one else with them.

Soon, however, the house lights dim and a cheer rises from the crowd. Pike nudges Percy, and he looks over to where Vox Machina is taking the stage. The lead singer, a wiry woman with red hair and more freckles than Percy's ever seen on one person, counts them off, and a force of music hits him. He gazes at the band, eyes wide.

"I think I'm in love with all of them," he says, a little agog.

"Yeah," Pike agrees, then tips back her pint glass and downs the last of her beer. She grabs Percy by the elbow. "C'mon, let's get close! I can't see shit."

The crowd is uncomfortably warm and very loud as Percy's tugged into it, but the buzz of the gin through his system makes it a bit less unbearable, and the band playing before him nearly makes him forget. Pink and blue lights dazzle his eyes, but he can make out everyone onstage all the same, more and more as they shift through the mass of bodies to move closer to the stage.

At the microphone is the red-haired woman, who shakes a tambourine - it would be cliche on anyone else, but the freedom of her movement as she takes the stage makes it clear she's unaware of the expectations. She bends to sing in the face of a short man with a bright purple guitar, a broad, charming grin across his face as he chimes in with perfect harmonies.

Behind them all is a man who can only be described as goliath, slamming on the drums with exuberant force. His shirt off, the lights play across planes of muscle on his intimidatingly huge torso. Near him, her hands dancing across the surface of her faux-wood keyboard, is a petite but muscled woman, her hair long and braided, her face pointed and absolutely lovely.

And next to her, fingers walking along the neck of his bass, is the figure from earlier, the man whose silhouette entranced Percy not long ago. He's got the same angular beauty as the woman who has to be his sister, but a dark rogueishness to him. He cocks a smirk at the crowd, his face half-hidden by the sweep of his long, dark hair. Percy gulps and tries not to stare at him, or at the rest of him. They've each got a different sort of beauty, and it overwhelms him far more than the noise or the lights.

"See?" Pike yells into Percy's ear, standing on tiptoe to reach. "I told ya you'd like 'em!" Percy nods vaguely and proceeds to lose himself in music.

 

They emerge from the crowd exhilarated and drenched in sweat. Percy, to his astonishment, had found himself doing some semblance of dancing, and barely minded the press of bodies around him. He can't tell if his drink was stronger than he realized or if he's just drunk on sensation.

"That was amazing," he pants, slinging an arm around Pike's shoulder. She twitches in surprise, then leans into it. His limbs feel strangely loose, oddly comfortable, all from the warmth within him. Pike laughs and reaches up to take the hand that's on her shoulder.

"So," she says, "You wanna meet 'em, right?" And suddenly Percy's shoulders tighten, his back straightening. He withdraws his hand, folds it with the other in front of himself.

"Well," he says, "Ah..." Pike's brow furrows.

"Come on," she says. "Don't do that thing."

"What thing?"

"That thing where you feel inferior, because you're really not." Percy manages a false sort of smile, because who is he to tell her she's lying? She grips his hand. "Come on." Pike leads Percy past the crowd exiting the bar, through a door into a back room of the pub. Sitting around the table, sipping their drinks, are the members of Vox Machina. Percy swallows hard. His hand is clammy in Pike's he can tell.

A cheer goes up when Pike walks in; the huge drummer leaps to his feet.

"You didn't tell me you were -" Percy gets out before Pike is ripped away from him into the embrace of the big guy.

"Aww, buddy!" The large man's voice booms through the room. Pike grips onto him tight, pulled a foot off her feet.

"Hi, Grog," she coos. Grog - her roommate. Percy shifts awkwardly in the jacket. If he'd known...

The others rush up, and Percy's practically knocked aside in the hurry to get to Pike. She gets a kiss on the cheek from the red-haired singer, simultaneous hugs from the lovely siblings, and a _very_  probing hug from the short man, all amidst excited chatter. Percy stands off to the side, observes, until the man who's been catching his eye all night gives him a curious look. His cheeks flush pink at the gaze, he's sure.

"Are you going to introduce your friend, Pikey?" the man drawls. "Or is he just going to stand there?" Percy feels his shoulders tighten even further. He clears his throat.

"This is Percy," Pike chimes in. She grabs his hand again. "Percy, this is Vax..." The dark-haired man gives a mock salute. "Vex..." His sister gives a faux curtsy accompanied by a winning smile and a wink. "Keyleth..." The red-haired woman waves with a shy smile. "Scanlan..." The short fellow winks too, but his is far more lewd than charming. "And my buddy Grog," she finishes. Grog grins, then furrows his brow.

"Is that..." 

"Your jacket," Percy says, "Yes, very sorry, Pike gave it to me to make me look less wholesome and, well." He has to crane his neck to catch the expression on Grog's face. "I can hand it over if you want, very sorry..."

"Nah." Grog waves him off. "It looks good on you, innat right, monstah?" Pike bounces on her toes.

"Yeah, no worries, Percy." Pike looks about the group. "Well, now you've all been introduced - the next round's on me!" The group cheers and falls back into conversation, moving back to the table where they'd been seated. Percy trails in their wake, sitting next to Pike when she insists. He sits, he drinks and he listens to the swell of chatter around him, feeling very much like a fly on the wall.

When he gets home that night, he busies his hand repairing a clock and tries to focus on the tick of its gears, not on the echo of their music still ringing in his ears. When he finally goes to bed he tries not to think of wicked grins and freckles all over, of dark eyes winking and sheets of muscle, of raven-black hair and sun-bright smiles.

And when that fails, he takes a cold shower.

 

A week goes by, and it's not that Percy avoids Pike. It's just that he's very busy with his work, and it's too cold to go anywhere, and he knows if he sees her he'll think of all the things he's been trying very hard _not_  to think about, and it's all for the best really. It works very well; he stays home and fixes vacuum cleaners and motor scooters and doesn't have to talk to anyone or truly process his feelings. It's quite lovely, really.

But then it's Thursday, and Pike texts him asking to get lunch, and he almost says no, but imagining a look of disappointment on Pike's face is too much even for him. So he goes.

Vox Machina is playing at Mercer's again this weekend. He can't say no to the invitation.

 

This time Percy wears his own leather jacket and tries very hard not to look wholesome. He spends far too long in front of the mirror adjusting the sweep of his hair. At the door, Pike gives her approval.

 

He drinks three G&Ts and throws himself into the crowd. The music pounds through his veins. He tries very hard not to stare.

 

After the set, Pike again takes his hand and leads him back against the flow of the crowd.

"Look," he says, "Wouldn't you rather just be with your friends without me hanging on? They don't even like me."

" _I_ like you," Pike insists, "And they will too, if you let them. C'mon, have some faith." Percy scoffs but follows her anyway.

There's a cheer again when Pike and Percy show up in the back room, but rather than inviting a stampede, Pike goes to them. Keyleth grins at Percy and pats the chair next to hers. He tries his best to smile back.

"What're you drinking?" Scanlan asks from his other side. "It's on me."

"Whatever you're having," Percy says. Scanlan grins slyly and disappears.

"So," Vex asks, propping her chin on her hand. "What do you do, Percival?" 

"I'm a mechanic of sorts," Percy responds, fiddling with his fingers. "I fix things that are broken." There's a twinkle in Vex's eye.

"You know, our radiator's been making this clanging noise, sounds like there's a tiny man in there hitting it with a spoon."

"That's not nice, sister," Vax interrupts, "Asking him to fix our shit when we've only just gotten acquainted." He's got Gilmore draped over his shoulder.

"Simply not _done_ , Vex'ahlia," Gilmore purrs. He extends a hand across the table; Percy shakes it. "You _do_  have quite capable hands." The man grins with hooded eyes. Percy tries to ignore the flutter in his chest. He turns his attention to Pike and Grog, who are chugging pints of beer. Pike slams her glass down in triumph, with Grog following directly behind.

_"Monstahh!"_  Pike cries out, then turns to grin at Percy. He smiles back, and then there's the cool pressure of a glass pressing against his elbow. He looks over, and Scanlan's sliding back into his seat. There's a martini glass in front of him, the liquid inside a shocking violet. Scanlan's got his fingers curled around a matching one, which he raises in a small toast. Percy obliges him and clinks.

The drink is sweet and tangy, with a hint of spice. Scanlan arches an eyebrow.

"Good, yeah?"

"Yeah," Percy says. "Good."

 

He goes back the next week, and the next. Each time he feels less like a spy in their house and more like a friend. But the flutter in his heart never gets better, and his dreams don't stop being haunted by pretty faces. He's learning to manage it, though, learning not to feel so dirty in their presence. Learning to loosen up.

 

"It's snowing!" Keyleth rushes to the window of the pub to gaze happily out at the flakes drifting down over the city. "Come on," she urges as she rushes out the back door. Vex follows quickly after her, with Vax trailing behind. Grog and Scanlan shrug and stay seated. Pike's not present, being out on a night shift; Percy came anyway, a feat of its own.

Vax looks over his shoulder as he gets to the door.

"C'mon, Freddie," he drawls; Percy made the mistake of revealing all his names last week. Percy rises from his seat, pulls his jacket tighter around himself as he moves out of the pub into the cold night air.

Keyleth and Vex dance and swirl with the snow, out under a streetlight. The light grants a warmth to them, to Keyleth's hair and Vex's eyes. They look ecstatic. Vax, by contrast, is a dark, lean figure propped against the brick wall of the back of the pub. Percy leans up next to him, watches the women enjoy the snowfall.

Vax breathes in silence for a few moments, then nudges Percy.

"You like her," Vax murmurs. "Kiki." Percy swallows hard.

"Yes," Percy says cautiously. "She's... very lovely." Vax nods.

"And you like my sister." Percy's breath catches.

"Yes," he admits after a moment, because he's gotten enough drinks in him to speak with mortifying levels of candor.

"You like Grog."

"I'm a bit scared of him, to be honest," Percy responds, "But sometimes that's... exciting."

"Scanlan?"

"Disturbed, but intrigued."

"Pike?" Percy sighs.

"I'll never be worthy of her, but... yes. She's quite dear to me."

Vax turns, moves into Percy's space a bit.

"And you like me." Percy's mouth goes dry. "Don't think I haven't seen you staring." Percy can't quite breathe.

"Uh..." The sound is more like a squawk.

"You've been honest so far," Vax urges, "Don't stop now." Percy inhales, the cold air cutting his throat.

"Yes," he says simply.

"Good," Vax says, and then he leans in and kisses Percy. His lips are cold, but his breath is warm, the taste of him sweet from the mead he's been drinking all night. Percy wants to melt into him, but nearly as soon as the kiss has begun, Vax is drawing back. And with the loss of contact, Percy's mind turns back on and begins racing.

"But you're with..." Percy sputters.

"Shaun?" Percy nods. "Shit, didn't Pike tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Percy's fists clench; he wants to close them around the lapels of Vax's coat, to drag him in for another kiss, but there are things to sort out here. Vax is smiling beatifically, like nothing's wrong.

"Me and the rest of us," Vax explains, "We're... kind of a package deal." Percy stares from Vax to Keyleth and Vex, thinks of the rest of the group, how comfortable they all are.

"You're all... together," Percy says, trying to place this.

"You could say that." Vax moves back, leans against the wall again. "Some of us are more together than others, it's not some giant orgy all the time, but... we love each other. We take care of each other. And we're good at sharing." He glances over at Percy. "And we've been talking about you." Percy's eyes widen.

"About _me_?" There's hardly justification for that, he thinks. They seem to have a good thing, the group of them - no need to fuck things up by throwing him into the mix. But when he imagines it, imagines being part of it... god, he _wants_.

"Yeah," Vax says. "We like you. You like us. It could be fun." He shrugs, steps away. "Hey, think it over, all right?" Vax's head turns as he calls out to Keyleth and Vex. "It's fuckin' freezing. I'm going inside." The women wave merrily. Percy follows Vax inside and orders a very large drink.

 

He does think about it. It doesn't require much thought, really - the impulse is the same, a want too strong for even his demons to tear down. He gives it a couple days until he can't wait any longer. And then on a cold Tuesday night, he digs out his phone and sends off a message to Pike. It reads:

_Okay. I want in._


End file.
